Fortune's Loss
by Tesekian
Summary: Sequel to Fortune Prevails. Elessar and Sal travel to the Shire for a reunion, but danger threatens from a most unexpected source. COMPLETE
1. Dark Dreams

Author's note: This is the last in a series, but it isn't necessary to have read the other stories in the series first. It's probably helpful, and if you plan on reading the others then read them first, since this one will give away the plots of the others.  
  
Just a few points. The silver tree in a broach given by the king to someone who does something of great service to Gondor. Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli and Sal all have one, along with the Ranger Jaren.  
  
Sal was exiled for treachery but never actually betrayed King Elessar. It's complicated, so go and read When Fortune Fails if you want to know more. Sal was Elessar's bodyguard for a while, and his sword, fortune, was a gift from him.  
  
If there's anything else in this you don't understand just ask in a review.  
  
***  
  
Parlond, one of the king's bodyguards, was surprised by the sound of a small laugh from the prince's bedroom. It wasn't the laugh that was surprising, but that it came in the middle of the night. The laugh came again, and Parlond decided it was his duty to see what was going on. Besides, he was curious.  
  
He knocked on the door, and then pushed it open. Eldarion, the twelve-year- old prince, was sitting on the edge of his bed, his little sister, Elmarith, on his lap. The young princess was sucking her thumb and giggling.  
  
"Shouldn't you both be asleep?" Parlond asked.  
  
"Sa's here," Elmarith said, taking her thumb from her mouth for a moment.  
  
"'Sa'?"  
  
"She thinks there's a troll under her bed," Eldarion explained. Parlond struggled not to laugh.  
  
"Well, maybe I should take you back to your room," he suggested, "and I'll make sure there are no trolls there." He held out his arms and picked her up. She certainly looked sleepy as she curled against his chest.  
  
"'Night, Rion," she said.  
  
"Goodnight," Eldarion said, his expression showing clearly that he was trying not to laugh. He wasn't old enough to have learned how to school his expressions yet. Parlond suspected he was up to some mischief, but he was just a child and all children were entitled to mischief now and then. Parlond decided to leave him be.  
  
As soon as he had left the room with Elmarith in his arms, Eldarion started laughing quietly. A man stepped out of the shadows in the corner.  
  
"That was good thinking," the man commented.  
  
"It's true," Rion said, "she really does think there's a troll under her bed." The man started laughing as well.  
  
"I probably ought to go now," he said after a while, "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for associating with exiles."  
  
"Will you come back tomorrow?"  
  
"No, your father said he has a job for me to do, so I don't know when I'll next be able to come."  
  
"Goodbye," Eldarion said.  
  
"Good bye, Rion." And with that, the man climbed out the window. Rion watched him go. Since Sal had rescued him from kidnappers two years ago, he had come to visit him often. He always came at night though, since he was charged with death if he was found in Minas Tirith, which meant Rion was always tired the next day. His father, King Elessar understood however, since Sal would always visit him as well when he was in the city.  
  
***  
  
Parlond was summoned to King Elessar's study the next morning, and approached to the sound of arguing. Ralisay's came clearly through the door.  
  
"If you recall what happened the last time you failed to listen to me on this subject, perhaps you will reconsider," Ralisay was almost shouting.  
  
"Why don't you go and find Parlond," the king suggested calmly, "and accuse him of treachery to his face." Parlond, standing in the corridor, swelled with fury at the thought that Ralisay could believe such a thing.  
  
"I meant no accusation," Ralisay said quickly.  
  
"It didn't sound like that to me," Elessar replied.  
  
"All I meant was that one bodyguard is hardly enough to protect you should you run into danger."  
  
"So now you are suggesting I am unable to defend myself?" From his place in the corridor, Parlond realised that Elessar was deliberately trying to weaken Ralisay's position in the argument. It was clear the advisor had meant no such thing, but by suggesting it himself, Elessar was forcing Ralisay to defend himself so he could no longer argue his point. He had probably not meant any insult to Parlond either.  
  
"If you were against an overwhelming force," Ralisay replied skilfully, "even your great skill might not be enough. There is no harm in being cautious."  
  
"If it would comfort you," Elessar said, "I will ask one of my Rangers to accompany us." While it might seem to a stranger that Ralisay had won the argument, Parlond knew that Ralisay must have been trying to get Elessar to take a battalion of soldiers with him. Ralisay feared danger in every shadow, and spent his life trying to convince everyone else to do the same.  
  
He waited a moment, and then knocked on the door, so hopefully they wouldn't guess he had been listening, though he hardly needed to listen to overhear what the two had been saying.  
  
"Enter," King Elessar called. Parlond did so. The king was seated behind his desk, and Ralisay was standing in front of it, an expression of anger on his face which the king seemed unaware of.  
  
"Ah, Parlond," the king said, "in a few days I will be travelling north, and Ralisay has insisted I need protection. I would like you to accompany me."  
  
"Yes, Your Majesty," Parlond said calmly, though inwardly he was delighted. He had always wanted to see some of the places he only heard about in tales. To be given such an opportunity was amazing.  
  
"Make whatever arrangements and farewells as you must," the king continued, "for I expect the journey will take several months."  
  
"Yes, Your Majesty," Parlond said again, and he left with a bow. He wasn't sure which pleased him more, that he would be able to travel the world, or that King Elessar trusted him with such a task.  
  
***  
  
Sal lay unnoticed on a stone floor, a terrible pain in his chest. His sword, fortune, lay nearby. For some reason, he knew he had to remain unnoticed, and tried to look around without moving. Fear pierced his very soul, and it took all the control he had not to panic and flee.  
  
Two figures who Sal couldn't see clearly from his position were bound nearby. A man stood closer to him still, his back towards Sal. He was facing someone Sal recognised, who was being held in position by orcs. Sal heard the taunting words coming from the man closest to him, and knew him to be an enemy. Slowly, Sal's hand crept towards the hilt of his sword.  
  
The man didn't notice, and continued taunting the one in front of him. Faramir, Sal remembered who he was. The Prince of Ithilien. There was something familiar about this situation, but Sal couldn't remember what it was. His hand gripped the hilt of fortune, just as fear tightened its grip around Sal's heart. Something terrible was about to happen.  
  
He jumped to his feet, and drove his sword into the man's heart.  
  
"NO!" Faramir cried, as he watched his brother die before his eyes. Sal remembered. He knew the name of the man he had just killed, and knew how much he had hurt someone he respected.  
  
Fortune clattered to the ground, and Sal looked down at his hands. They were stained red with blood. As he watched, the blood seemed to disappear, seeping below the skin into Sal's own. Bewitched by some terrible fear, he tried to get rid of the blood, wiping his hands on his dirty shirt, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and he was terrified.  
  
Sal came awake with a cry. He sat up and found a mist covering his vision. He blinked and the mist was gone, but the fear his dream had left him with remained. Trembling, he looked around him. He was lying in a small hollow near Minas Tirith. Safe. Then why couldn't he be rid of this feeling of dread?  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Eldarion and Elmarith won't actually play much of a part in this story, I just couldn't resist the bit about a troll under the bed. Please review. 


	2. The Departure

Author's note: I would have updated earlier, but I was made to go out and paint guttering. Not the best way to spend a freezing cold Saturday afternoon. I think I'll have black paint under my fingernails for the rest of my life.  
  
***  
  
Elessar hugged Eldarion one last time. Elmarith was clinging to his leg as though she thought she could stop him from leaving.  
  
"Why can't I go with you, Father?" Eldarion asked again.  
  
"Because I want to know you're safe," Elessar replied.  
  
"I'd be safer with you than anywhere else."  
  
"No," Elessar said, hopefully for the last time, "Besides, how would your mother cope if I took you away from her?" He gave Arwen a quick smile. She was sad about him going, but managing not to cry for the sake of the children. Her stomach was beginning to show the swelling of a third child. Not that Rion and Rith weren't enough trouble on their own.  
  
"I'll be home as soon as I can," he said, and pried Rith's arms away from his leg. He kissed her on the forehead, and then turned to Rion. "Take care of your mother," he instructed. Arwen gave him a brief kiss, before taking the children's hands and moving them away.  
  
Elessar mounted his horse. Parlond was already mounted and waiting. Looking back at his family one final time, Elessar gave them a wave, before riding away. He would miss them, but it was better they stayed here in Minas Tirith where they would be safer. He only hoped Rion would stay out of trouble while he was away. The boy had unfortunately inherited his father's adventuring spirit. While it was a good thing for a Ranger to have, it wasn't so desirable in a twelve-year-old prince who was supposed to behave in a dignified and courteous manner at all times. Certainly there was nothing dignified in a boy who was constantly stealing apples from the orchard and had the habit of disappearing when he was supposed to be greeting visiting nobles. Elessar had a suspicious feeling Sal might have given him some ideas for hiding places.  
  
People in the streets stopped to watch as they rode by and Elessar was glad when they passed through the final gate and left the city. He looked over at Parlond, who was clearly trying to conceal his excitement. He was a good soldier, and certainly loyal, but Elessar wasn't comfortable with having him constantly with him. Still, of all the bodyguards Parlond was probably the only one who might be persuaded to say something other than 'yes, your majesty' by the time they returned.  
  
They hadn't gone very far from the city when the noticed a rider approaching fast. He wasn't heading along the road, and was obviously aiming for them. Parlond took out his bow and put an arrow to the string. Elessar put his hand on the hilt of his sword. As the rider came nearer, sunlight glinted off something silver on his chest, and Elessar relaxed. In a few moments the man had reached them. Parlond kept his bow ready, waiting for a command. Elessar looked at the silver brooch on Sal's chest. The last few times they had met, Sal hadn't worn it. It wasn't good for a supposed traitor to show his allegiance. It seemed right that the tree should be back where it belonged.  
  
"New bodyguard?" Sal asked, nodding towards Parlond.  
  
"Ralisay decided I need protection," Elessar replied, grinning.  
  
"That man never changes."  
  
"No. I wish he would turn traitor so I could exile him."  
  
"If you send him out here with me I'll never forgive you."  
  
"You're right," Elessar agreed, "it's a crime worse than cutting my hair." Sal started laughing at that, and Elessar joined in. Parlond just looked very confused, and he was still holding his bow.  
  
"You can put that away," Elessar told him, "Sal's a friend. I've asked him to come with us."  
  
"Sal?" Parlond said, "As in Salafir?"  
  
"Yes, my former bodyguard." Instead of putting his bow away, Parlond's grip on it tightened.  
  
"Don't worry," Sal said, "the rumours of my treachery are rather exaggerated."  
  
***  
  
Sal thrust the sword into the man's heart, staring as blood flowed out over his hand. He watched terrified as the blood seeped through his skin. He could feel it inside him, burning like fire as it flowed through his veins. Coming closer to his heart.  
  
He tried to pull fortune free, but it was too late. He had killed. The blood was on his hands. Was inside of him. Finally he yanked fortune out, causing more blood to flow from the wound. The man still stood in front of him, his back towards Sal. He should have fallen. He should be dead. He should have died a long time ago, when the orc arrows pierced his flesh.  
  
Sal was frozen with fear as the man turned to face him, seemingly oblivious to the hole through his heart. He fixed Sal with his gaze, staring into Sal's eyes with a pair that glowed red with inner fire. Sal wanted to run, wanted to flee away from those burning eyes, but his body wouldn't obey his commands.  
  
He wanted to bring fortune round to put out those lights forever, but nothing no matter how much he desired it, it wouldn't happen. Sal was a soldier, he was able to put fear out of his mind, but none of his training had prepared him for this. Those burning eyes stared deep into his soul.  
  
"You are mine," the man said.  
  
Sal sat up, giving out a cry without realising it. A fog obscured his vision, and the fear still gripped his heart. He reached instinctively for fortune, knowing he was still in danger.  
  
"Sal!" The fog cleared suddenly, and Elessar was kneeling beside him. "Sal, what's wrong?"  
  
Sal looked round him, the man with the burning eyes was gone. He had never been there. Parlond sat, looking at him confused. Elessar was there, a hand on his arm, a concerned look on his face.  
  
"It was nothing," Sal said, "just a dream." Elessar didn't look convinced, and Sal wasn't so sure either.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Starting as I mean to go on, with an evil cliffhanger. Please review. 


	3. Disturbed Nights

Elessar looked over at Sal who rode silently beside him. The dark shadows under his eyes suggested that this wasn't the first night his sleep had been disturbed by nightmares. It wasn't that Sal had had nightmares that worried him, since everyone had a bad night occasionally, it was the expression on his face when he awoke. Elessar hadn't seen Sal that scared since he was a sixteen-year-old boy, wielding a sword he didn't know how to use properly in battle against orcs. Elessar couldn't imagine what could frighten a trained soldier and Ranger so badly.  
  
"What was in your dream?" Elessar asked.  
  
"It doesn't matter," Sal said, "it was only a dream after all." But Elessar saw the quickly suppressed shudder as he reminded Sal of his nightmare.  
  
They rode on all day, Sal and Elessar side by side, with Parlond riding a short distance behind them. Sal was lost in his own thoughts throughout the journey, and Elessar had no doubt they were of his dream.  
  
The stopped to make camp beside a small spring on top of a rise. They were in Rohan now, and their position gave a good view of the land around them. A small circle of stones surrounding a pile of ash suggested that others had used this place before them, but the ashes were cold and no one had stopped here for some time.  
  
Parlond seemed surprised when Elessar did much of the work himself, finding wood and laying the fire, while the others rubbed down the horses. Elessar then heated some of their supplies over the small fire. He did this himself as he wasn't sure how good a cook Parlond would be, rarely having left Minas Tirith, and Sal was too distracted at the moment to be sure he wouldn't burn everything.  
  
"I'll take first watch," Sal said, once their meal was finished.  
  
"Are you sure?" Elessar asked, concerned. Sal nodded, and Elessar guessed he was trying to put off sleep for as long as possible.  
  
It felt like only minutes had gone by when Sal shook Elessar awake for his watch. He yawned widely, hardly refreshed by his sleep, and hoped he would be able to stay awake. It had been too long since he had been forced to keep watch and he was out of the habit. He'd better not tell Sal, or he'd be teased mercilessly about going soft. He glanced across at where Sal was dying down reluctantly to sleep, and wondered if Sal was in any condition to tease anyone.  
  
He might dismiss his nightmare as nothing, but Elessar knew how disturbed he was by it. He just wished Sal would tell him what was wrong. Until now he had thought Sal would trust him with anything.  
  
When Elessar's eyes began to close of their own accord, he got to his feet, and walked slowly around their small camp, hoping that the exercise would help keep him awake. He was passing close to Sal, when he sat up, a scream coming from his lips. Elessar dropped to Sal's side, his hands on Sal's shoulders. Sal cried out and tried to pull away from him, his eyes staring blindly in front of him.  
  
"Sal, it's me. It's Elessar." Suddenly Sal became aware of his surroundings. He looked into Elessar's face, and then collapsed into his arms. Elessar held the trembling body of his friend, giving him the comfort of his presence. What could frighten Sal into this state? Sal trembled and clung to Elessar, almost childlike in his fear.  
  
It wasn't long before Sal pulled away, regaining his normal composure. Parlond was awake as well now, watching them curiously.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"Why?" Elessar said, "You haven't done anything wrong."  
  
"I'm afraid," Sal admitted quietly.  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"I don't know. I can remember the dream, and I can remember being terrified, but what it is that frightens me so much about the dream vanishes once I wake up."  
  
"How long have you been having these dreams?"  
  
"Every night for almost ten nights now."  
  
"And what do you see? Are they all the same?" Elessar hoped that by getting Sal to speak about his dreams and share his fear it would have less of a hold over him.  
  
"I see myself killing Boromir again. I see his blood on my hands and then I wake up. Sometimes he looks at me, and I see his eyes burning red."  
  
"You're afraid of killing a good man," Elessar said, "I can think of far worse fears to have."  
  
"It's not that I'm afraid of. It's. . . something else." Sal shook his head, as though trying to dislodge some thought, and looked out into the darkness that surrounded their small camp.  
  
"Why don't you go back to sleep," Sal suggested after a while, "I'll keep watch. I doubt I'll be able to sleep any more tonight."  
  
"Neither will I," Elessar said, "I'm not used to sleeping on hard ground."  
  
"Going soft?" Sal said, with a small smile forming.  
  
"It's not my softness that's the problem," he replied, "it's the fact that the earth's got harder since I last slept outdoors." His words had the desired affect, and Sal was able to relax slightly. Parlond returned to sleep, but Elessar and Sal sat awake, Sal unable to sleep and Elessar not wanting his friend to suffer alone.  
  
Unfortunately, neither of them was paying enough attention to their surroundings. When the orcs leapt out of the darkness, both Sal and Elessar were on their feet instantly, drawing their swords.  
  
"Parlond!" Elessar shouted, and Parlond was awake at once, reaching for his weapon. Elessar brought Anduril up to block a blow from one of the leading orcs, trusting the others to defend themselves. Then an agonising scream tore the air beside him. He looked round to see Sal lying on the ground, motionless, his face filled with pain and fear.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I'm very disappointed that nobody reviewed the last chapter. If you don't review I might decide to leave you with this cliffhanger. 


	4. Pain

Author's note: I would have updated sooner, but the teachers seem to think we don't have anything better to do than spend hours on homework.  
  
***  
  
The moment's distraction was all it took. Something hit Elessar in the back with such force that he fell to the ground. He tried to spin onto his back so he could at least defend himself, but something pressed into his back, pinning him to the ground. He still held Anduril, but an orc's foot stamped down onto his wrist. Stifling a cry, he lost his grip on his sword, and the orc kicked it away.  
  
Rough hands seized his arms but Elessar fought fiercely against them. One of them kicked him hard in the side, and in the moment it took to recover from the pain they had tied his arms tightly behind him. He kicked out at them, but soon his legs were bound tightly as well, with ropes around his ankles and his knees. He continued to struggle against his bonds, but it was nothing but a futile gesture.  
  
"Keep still!" a harsh voice ordered. He didn't obey. The orcs began to hit him in response. He stopped struggling, knowing it was pointless anyway. He would stand a better chance of escaping if he hadn't been beaten half to death.  
  
One of the orcs grabbed Elessar and flung him over his shoulder. The ropes meant he couldn't escape, but he lifted his head and saw Parlond being treated in much the same manner as him. Parlond appeared to be unconscious, and there was a deep gash across his forehead. He looked round and saw Sal being lifted. To his surprise, Sal wasn't bound, and there didn't appear to be any wounds on him. Still he lay unresisting in their arms, eyes closed almost as if he was asleep.  
  
***  
  
Sal screamed as he felt the blade pierce his heart. He looked down at the sword that was protruding from his chest. The elfish characters were visible even under his blood. Fortune.  
  
He let out another cry as the sword was pulled out, and turned to look at the person who had attacked him. A shock almost worse than the pain filled him as he looked into his own face, and saw the expression of terror on his features. The Sal in front of him gripped fortune with blooded hands and stared into his eyes with fear.  
  
Sal suddenly realised that his vision was tinted red. He had thought it was from the pain, but now he knew it wasn't. He saw through a veil of flames, as his own eyes burned with red fire.  
  
***  
  
Elessar lay bound on a stone floor, where the orcs had left him. He was in a small cell, with no way of knowing what had happened to Parlond and Sal. He was especially worried about Sal. His terrible dreams had made Elessar concerned, but he had collapsed with no apparent sign of injury. Was he suffering from some illness he had failed to see? Elessar felt a great deal of responsibility for Sal, and wasn't sure he could forgive himself if something happened to him.  
  
He didn't have time to worry about Sal, because the door opened at that point, and two men came in flanked by orcs.  
  
"Welcome, Your Majesty," one of the men said, stressing the title.  
  
"Forgive us if we don't bow," the other said. Elessar glared at them, and there was laughter from the orcs.  
  
"Of course, it's only manners that we show you a little more of our home." There was more laughter from the orcs at this remark. They came and cut the ropes around Elessar's legs. The instant the ropes were gone, he kicked out at his captors. He was still and the ground with his hands bound, so he couldn't find well, but he put up a good fight before they managed to hold him still. Elessar glared at the men, but instead of seeming angry they were amused.  
  
"Perhaps if the king wishes to fight like a beast," one suggested, "we should treat him like one." An orc pulled out a metal collar with a chain attached and fixed it around Elessar's neck. It was tight, and pressed against his throat, but fortunately didn't restrict his breathing. They must have had the collar ready, he realised, anticipating his actions. He had done exactly what they wanted.  
  
"A beast shouldn't wear clothes," the other man pointed out. The orcs laughed maniacally as they tore off Elessar clothes viciously. There was nothing he could do to resist. He was ashamed as he lay naked before these foul creatures, but tried to tell himself that it was unimportant. The orcs grabbed his boots and pulled them off, jarring his ankle as they did so for they took little care.  
  
"Now that's more like a beast." The men too were laughing now, and Elessar tried to block it from his ears.  
  
"But a beast should have duties to perform. He mustn't be lazy."  
  
They pulled him to his feet, and then the orc that gripped the chain gave it a tug that almost sent him back to the floor. The men walked out of the room, and Elessar was towed along behind by the chain. The orcs surrounded him, taking away any hope of escape.  
  
He was taken to a large room. He was given a moment to stand and see the contents. There was a wooden table with metal cuffs fixed to it, two blocks of metal that stood close together for some purpose Elessar couldn't guess at, chains hanging from the high ceiling, racks of blades and whips and other instruments of torture. But, dominating the room, was a wooden post that stretched from floor to ceiling. A horizontal wheel was fixed to this post at chest height. The wheel was of almost solid wood, but there was a gap in it.  
  
It was to the wheel that Elessar was dragged. The orcs cut the ropes around his wrists and pushed him into the gap in the wood. It was tight, and the wood pressed into his chest and back. The orcs still held his arms, and pulled them in front of him, locking his wrists into metal cuffs set into the surface of the wood. The chain at his neck was fixed to the post.  
  
Elessar didn't understand what the purpose of this thing was. Unfortunately, he didn't have to wait long to be enlightened. One of the men pulled a level and the post started spinning. With a jerk the wheel moved, pressing painfully into Elessar's back at the same instant that his arms were yanked painfully at the wrists. He had no choice but to start walking as the wheel rotated.  
  
The rough floor was painful beneath Elessar's bare feet and he couldn't pause for even a moment without being yanked forward by the motion of the wheel. The men were smiling cruelly as Elessar circled the post repeatedly.  
  
"Perhaps we should leave the beast to his task."  
  
They left, the orcs following. Elessar continued his walking. His feet were soon sore and his arms ached from the position they were held in. The cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his hands were short of blood. He walked on, step after step, with nothing but his aching muscles to take his mind of his worries. He wondered if the men would be putting Sal and Parlond through this as well.  
  
Time passed slowly, monotonously. Step, step, step. He walked round and round in circles as the wheel moved onwards. His legs were sore and his feet agony. He was sure they were bleeding. He wasn't meant to walk barefooted like this. He wouldn't have thought this could be as tortuous as it was.  
  
He wanted to rest. He wanted to sit down and take the weight of his feet for even a few moments. He stumbled, and as he slipped his body was yanked against his wrists, pulling painfully at his shoulders. His feet were dragged along the floor for a while before he could stand again and keep walking.  
  
How many hours had he been walking? He stumbled again as his eyes began to close with fatigue. He had slept badly the night before because of Sal, and this exercise was taking its toll. He regained his footing and walked onwards, but it was a shorter time before he stumbled the next time.  
  
He must have stumbled and continued at least ten times with the long intervals between them growing shorter each time. Finally his fall caused a laugh. As the wheel turned, he was put in a position to see the doorway. The men were standing there, watching him. Elessar could make out the orcs behind them.  
  
"It seems the beast is tiring," one said as they crossed to the wheel. Elessar forced himself to stay on his feet as the wheel continued turning. They watched him for a long time, until even his self-control wasn't enough and he fell. This time as he fumbled to regain his footing his legs gave out beneath him. This was greeting by more laughter as he was towed along.  
  
Suddenly the wheel stopped, and the orcs released him. Exhaustion taking control, Elessar fell to the floor. He fought weakly against the orcs as they grabbed him and pulled him from the wheel, but he didn't have the strength. He slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I would tell you what's going on with Sal, but that would be too nice. I'm going to be evil and leave you in suspense. 


	5. Beastly Behaviour

Elessar woke back in the cell. The chain at his neck had been fixed to a ring in the floor so that he couldn't lift his head more than a few inches from the stone. His hands were tied behind him again, the ropes digging painfully into his wrists. In front of him was a bowl of water, but because of his bonds the only way to drink was to put his face to the bowl like an animal. Clearly that had been their intent.  
  
His throat was parched, and his head aching from dehydration, but he didn't want to give them to pleasure of seeing him act like an animal. At last he could bear it no more and decided to drink. He checked the room to make sure there was no one watching, before placing his mouth into the bowl. It was messy, and water spilled out onto the floor, but he drank enough to soothe his throat.  
  
No sooner had he finished, than the door opened and his captors entered, the orcs following behind. They laughed at his position, and he could do nothing but glare.  
  
"Only a beast would drink from the floor," one sneered.  
  
"Then we must put him to fitting tasks again." He waved his hand to the orcs, who came and released the chain from the ring so that he could be hauled to his feet. His feet screamed in agony as he put his weight on them. He bit back a cry and looked down at the mangled mess. Dried blood coated the bare skin. His reaction only caused more laughter from the orcs.  
  
As the chain was tugged violently he began to move forward. His feet protested every step but he was given no choice. He staggered out of the cell, only to have the orc yank on the chain again. He was pulled forwards, and put his foot out to regain his balance. But he trod too hard, and his foot couldn't take it.  
  
He almost cried out as he hit the floor, an arm pinned between his body and the floor. His feet throbbed and he could see blood spilling from reopened cuts.  
  
"Is that the best you can manage, beast?" Hands yanked him to his feet again and pushed him onwards. He managed a few steps before falling again. How he made it to the room he didn't know, everything was seen through a haze of pain. His body was covered with bruises from his many falls, and his feet felt as though someone had lit a fire inside them.  
  
When he stood in the torture room he was almost glad not to have to walk, then they pushed him towards the wheel. His vision blurred with pain, and he barely noticed that the wheel itself was closer to the ground than last time.  
  
"A beast should walk on four legs," one of the men said.  
  
"Then why do you stand on two?" Elessar's insult was met with a fist across his jaw, but he barely felt it over the pain in his feet.  
  
"You will pay for that!" the man snapped, fury on his face. Then the orcs shoved Elessar to the wheel. But this time they forced him to his knees beneath it. The height of the wheel meant he couldn't stand, even if his feet had been up to it. They fixed the chain to the wheel above Elessar's head, and then freed his hands. He knew what going to happen. Soon the wheel would start moving and he would be forced to crawl beneath it for hours as he had been forced to walk.  
  
As expected, the wheel soon jerked into motion, and he crawled. At least this way he didn't have to put any weight on his feet. It wasn't long however before his knees were sore, and no doubt would be as painful as his feet before this was over.  
  
He was beginning to tire from this monotonous activity, and his pace slowed slightly. Too much. The chain yanked forwards, pulling the collar tightly around his neck. He couldn't breathe! His vision swam and he hurried forwards a few paces, until he could pull air into his lungs again.  
  
He crawled on, careful now to keep the chain slack so that he didn't risk choking himself. His knees were scraped and cut, and two thin circles of red marked his progress round the post.  
  
His wrists, already bruised and cut from the ropes hurt every time he put weight on them and his shoulders ached. When his wrist finally couldn't take it and gave under him, he couldn't pull himself back up fast enough. The chain pulled forwards, the collar digging into his throat. His lungs screamed for air, and he tried to pry his fingers underneath to release the pressure but it was too tight.  
  
Pain seared through his chest as he was towed along the ground and darkness began to overwhelm him as he fought for breath. He fought even as he felt his life slipping away from him the darkness took him completely.  
  
***  
  
Sal looked into the burning eyes. The face they were set in was no longer important. All that mattered were the eyes that stared into his, burning into his soul. He could still feel the blood on his hands, the blood that was now inside him. The fire of it burned throughout his body now, even into his heart.  
  
"You are mine," the eyes said.  
  
"No," Sal replied.  
  
"There is no sense in resisting. You have been mine since you struck me down. By blood in yours. My spirit in yours."  
  
"I am myself! You cannot have me!"  
  
"I will have you as easily as I had Boromir. You will not be able to resist. You will watch helplessly as your own hands kill your friends."  
  
He thought immediately of Elessar, and guilt filled him. He was supposed to protect him, and he'd failed. He'd been weak.  
  
"You cannot fight me," the eyes said.  
  
Sal opened his eyes, the memory of the eyes still clear in his mind. The dream was gone, but he could still see their fire. Then he realised, it wasn't their fire that was tinting his vision. It was the fire that burned in his own. He was awake, and all his nightmares were real.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Evil takes on a whole new level when I get involved. Please review, or I might have second thoughts about updating. 


	6. The Harsh Reality

Parlond's body was adorned with bruises. He had woken alone in the cell, his head throbbing with pain. Since then he had lain on the ground, or sat leaning back against a wall. His hands and feet were bound tightly, and most of his body ached from beatings.  
  
He was afraid of what would happen, and afraid of what might already be happening to the king. He had failed in his duty as a bodyguard. Logically he knew that he had no hope of defending against an army of orcs, but still the guilt remained. He was a failure.  
  
The orcs had left him alone with his feelings, knowing that they would be as great a torture as anything they could do to him. At last the door opened and orcs came in. Parlond tried to draw himself back against the wall instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.  
  
The orcs cut the ropes that bound his ankles, and Parlond kicked the nearest orc. Another quickly hit Parlond over the head. He was stunned for a moment, disorientated from the blow, and that was long enough for the orcs to grab him by the arms and pull him to his feet. They hauled him through the door, Parlond stumbling along with them while he recovered his senses.  
  
Parlond was taken to a large room, and instinctive fear took over as he saw the contents. Instruments of torture filled it. He tried to pull away from the orcs, to flee. But he was struck again, and dragged forcefully into the room. They pulled him over to where chains hung from the ceiling, and fixed his hands in them. He struggled all the while, but there was no way for him to escape. The chains went through loops in the ceiling and then came down one wall. Once his hands were secure in the manacles, an orc pulled the chain that hung down the wall so that Parlond was raised just above the ground.  
  
The force of his weight pulled down on his shoulders and made the manacles dig painfully on his wrists. He watched as the orcs milled around him, snarling and laughing. He hung there, wondering terrified what they would do to him.  
  
In a few moments King Elessar was hauled in by the orcs. Naked. Parlond filled with pity as he saw the damage his body had suffered. There were bruises everywhere, and shallow cuts covered his chest and legs. On the lower part of his face was a strange, metal mask. It covered his mouth and was held to his face by leather straps, but it wasn't solid metal. Two pieces met at his mouth, and there was a lever between them.  
  
The king looked at Parlond as he was brought in, and Parlond could see the pain on his face as the orcs chained him in front of him. A man walked in and went across to Elessar.  
  
"You will pay for your insult, beast," he snarled. He held in his hand a bottle filled with a black liquid. Parlond was forced to watch as the man reached for the lever in the mask. He pressed it and the king's mouth snapped open, held there by pieces of metal. The king tried to pull away, but orcs grabbed his head and held it still. As the man poured the liquid down his throat and moved the lever back, shutting Elessar's mouth, he had no choice but to swallow.  
  
Parlond saw the expression on the king's face, and knew he couldn't even imagine the pain he was feeling.  
  
***  
  
Sal was lying on a soft bed, softer than any he had slept in for years. He wanted to look round at the rest of the room, but found his body wouldn't obey his commands. He stared upwards with burning eyes at what the thing inside of him wanted him to see. Inside, he was screaming, trying to move, trying to see through that veil of red.  
  
'You are weak,' a voice said in his mind, 'You cannot fight me.'  
  
Suddenly he stood, stepping off the bed into the room, but it wasn't Sal who had commanded his body to do so. He was filled by a terrible fear that he would spend the rest of his life watching while his body acted out another's deeds.  
  
The room was ornately furnished, and not very orclike. Carved chairs stood by rich wooden tables, oak panels lined the walls. But for all its splendour, there was nothing beautiful in the room. It was all dark and oppressive. Only one thing in the room wasn't, something Sal caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye, but was unable to turn his head to look at.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Enter," Sal heard his own voice call. The door did, and a man entered, dropping to a knee and bowing his head.  
  
"My lord," the man said, "your presence honours us."  
  
"Rise, Garthrin, you have made your preparations well."  
  
"Thank you, my lord." The man rose to his feet, but kept his head bowed respectfully, or perhaps fearfully. Sal wondered how Sauron had been able to give his orders, since he seemed to exist now inside him. He supposed he would have little choice but to find out.  
  
"Are the other preparations I ordered complete?"  
  
"They are, my lord."  
  
"And the king?"  
  
"The king and his companion are secure. We have begun working on them. Do you wish to watch?"  
  
"Yes." Sal could imagine what they meant by 'working on them' and wanted to do anything other than watch. He had watched Elessar beaten once before and it had been more than he could bear. He had no doubt whatever these people did to him would be far worse.  
  
'Do not fear,' said the voice in his mind, 'I will not make the mistake of keeping your friend alive for long.' Sal wondered if Sauron could sense his thoughts. He was inside his mind after all.  
  
That became the least of his worries as he turned unwillingly to the thing he had noticed earlier. The thing which didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the room. While he had wanted to see it earlier, now it just served to increase his fear. Fortune lay on a table, and Sal walked towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp the hilt.  
  
'I think the king's gift should be returned to him.'  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Evil incarnate? Me? Keep reviewing and I might get nicer. Emphasis on the might, I'm still trying to decide whether or not to kill Sal. 


	7. Escape

Pain. Nothing but pain. His insides burned from the potion, and his shoulder's throbbed from the strain placed on them. He could feel warm blood flowing down his arms from the cuts the manacles tore in his wrists. And always there was the pain in his back. He no longer felt the individual blows of the whip, so great was the agony that tore through his nerves.  
  
He wanted to cry out to them to stop, to leave him be. But the mask prevented it, squeezing his jaw tightly, painfully digging into the already bruised skin. He wanted just a moment's respite. A second in which the agony was dulled to mere pain, but instead the pain kept increasing.  
  
He was aware of motion around him, but didn't notice what was going on until his feet hit the ground. The blow sent pain all the way up his legs, and caused tears to form in his eyes. As the chain that was holding him up was lowered, he fell to the ground, unable to support himself. His wounds cried in protest, but there was nothing he could do.  
  
'Let this be the end,' he prayed, 'Let them kill me.'  
  
"Elessar," a familiar voice whispered, "Elessar." He felt hands at his head, and the mask came free. Then the hands were at his wrists, and Elessar gave an involuntary gasp of pain as they pressed against the bruises and cuts.  
  
"I'm sorry," the voice said.  
  
"Sal," Elessar murmured, in a voice filled with pain and shock.  
  
"Ssh, don't try to speak." The hands came to his throat and released the collar from his bruised throat. The relief was enough to make him smile, despite the pain that still filled his entire body. It seemed he'd got his wish. A brief respite. He knew it wouldn't last long, couldn't last long, but he would enjoy it while it happened.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked through the tears and haze of pain. Sal was pulling someone else down from chains. Parlond. Then Sal was back at his side.  
  
"We have to get out of here," Sal said, "Can you stand?" Elessar shook his head feebly. He wanted to tell Sal to get out, to leave him, but he couldn't find the strength.  
  
Sal's arm came around his waist, pressing against the wounds the whip had left. Pain flared again, and Elessar cried out. Sal apologised, but the arm remained, as Sal lifted him to his feet, bringing Elessar's own arm across his shoulders. His feet couldn't bear the touch of the ground, but he tried to hide the pain. Sal would be worried about him enough as it was. There was no sense in making things worse.  
  
Parlond came to the other side of Elessar, and helped Sal bring him from the room. Elessar's feet brushed the floor but to his intense relief hardly any weight was put on them. The other two were taking most of his weight for him. His back was agony from the touch of their arms, but there was no other way. He knew he would never convince Sal to leave him behind.  
  
They moved slowly along a corridor, Elessar almost carried by the other two men. He hated feeling so helpless, but he could hardly feel any other way. He was helpless. At least it was Sal he depended on, not some stranger. Elessar kept his eyes closed against the pain and let himself be led along. Then he felt Sal move away from his side.  
  
He forced himself to open his eyes and see why. An orc. Sal was already pinning the orc to the wall, fortune across the creature's throat.  
  
"Where are the things you took from us?" Sal demanded, "And how can we get out of this place?" Elessar had never heard such fierceness in his friend's voice before.  
  
"You will tell me," Sal continued, "or you will feel a hundred fold every pain you have dealt upon my friend!" The orc babbled out instructions and directions. Elessar's pain-fogged mind couldn't follow them, but apparently Sal could.  
  
"Thank you," Sal said once the orc was finished, and promptly cut the creature's throat. The calm anger Sal was displaying wasn't like him at all.  
  
Sal came back to Elessar's side and took up his weight again. Elessar leaned on him gladly as Sal guided the three along the corridor. It was surprising that no one had tried to stop them yet, but he knew he shouldn't be ungrateful for this mercy. The journey through the corridors of this place was agonising torture, and seemed to take hours. He was conscious of nothing other than the pain in his back and feet when they reached the room they had been heading for.  
  
Their packs were leaning against the wall of a storage room. Though they had been moved, it didn't look like anyone had gone through them. Even Anduril was there, instead of being taken as a trophy. Elessar was lowered to the floor, and he sat there gladly, letting Sal go through their things, checking they had everything.  
  
He closed his eyes and wished he could sleep, let himself slip away from this world of pain for a little while. But they couldn't linger. Sal came back to him, holding some clothes. Elessar became aware of his nakedness, which had been forgotten in his pain. He ought to feel embarrassed, but there were other more urgent things on his mind. Like the burning pain in his back as the fabric of the shirt brushed against his wounds. Sal had to lift him to get the trousers on, and Elessar was unable to support his weight or help in any way.  
  
There was an extra pair of boots in one of the packs, but they wouldn't go over his sore and swollen feet. Instead, Sal tore a blanket into strips, and wrapped the pieces around them, both bandaging and protecting them. Then Sal brought him Anduril. Though he knew he couldn't possible use it, it felt good to have his sword hanging at his side. At last they were ready.  
  
Parlond and Sal had split the baggage between them, and had to support Elessar as well. Elessar knew he was a burden. Without him, they would probably be out by now, somewhere safe.  
  
"Leave me," Elessar murmured.  
  
"No, Your Majesty." Elessar almost smiled at Parlond's reply. He had known he would make the guard say more than just 'yes, your majesty', but he hadn't expected he would start disobeying orders so soon. It had been months before Sal had started doing that.  
  
***  
  
Night was falling swiftly. Elessar sat back against a tree. The pressure hurting him back, but he needed to relax his strained muscles. They had emerged through a cave a few hours ago. The complex of tunnels was completely hidden. Even they couldn't see it, and they knew it was there. How long had those orcs been making it? How had none of the Rangers noticed?  
  
Their horses had fled from the battle, but Sal had brought them back, and they had ridden until dusk. The strides of the horse jolted his back and aggravated his wounds, but at least it was better than walking. Now they were resting.  
  
He looked across at where Sal was standing, a dark shadow in the growing night. He had been unusually silent. Perhaps out of worry, or perhaps because of some terrible thing that had happened to him. Elessar wanted to go and ask him if he was alright, but he couldn't stand without help, and he didn't want to bring Parlond into something Sal considered personal.  
  
"Sal?" Elessar called. Sal gave him a glance, and then stepped into the darkness away from their small camp. "What's wrong with him?" he murmured to himself.  
  
"He betrayed you," Parlond replied.  
  
"Nonesense," Elessar said, thinking Parlond was referring to the tales Elessar himself had helped spread after Sal's exile.  
  
"I saw him come into that room. He wasn't a prisoner. He was walking among the orcs as though he was a guest."  
  
"You are mistaken." Elessar was angry that anyone would make such an accusation, but was too exhausted to do anything about it.  
  
"I know what I saw," Parlond protested, "Sal has betrayed you."  
  
"It is because of him that we are free."  
  
"And does it not seem suspicious that our escape was so easy? He is obviously part of some plot."  
  
"You do not know your place, guard!" Elessar snapped, furious, and Parlond subsided. Fury filled him that his good, noble friend could be considered a traitor. He knew his own actions must have some part in that belief, and that just made him angrier.  
  
In the shadows just away from the camp, Sal stood listening to every word. His face showed no emotion, but inwardly he was crying. Elessar would refuse to believe any ill of him, and continue to do so despite the evidence, until the moment when fortune would be buried in his heart with Sal's hand on the hilt.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Confused? Good. And before you start going on about my evilness, at least I got them out of there. Reasons will be made clear later. 


	8. Sharp Words and Silence

Author's note: Yuck! Nasty, horrible colds. We hates them, Preciousss, we hates them.  
  
***  
  
Sal had insisted on checking Elessar's wounds thoroughly before they moved on any further. There had been a look of concern on his face as he did so, and Elessar began to worry his wounds were more serious than he had first thought. They were painful enough, but not life threatening.  
  
The concerned look didn't diminish as the days passed, and the shallow cuts were healing well. Elessar asked what was wrong several times, but Sal always avoided his eyes and said he was fine. He would just have to wait until Sal decided to open up, but that didn't seem to be coming and Elessar was worried for him.  
  
There was no sign of chase or anyone tracking them as they moved onwards. The three began to relax. Or rather, Parlond and Elessar relaxed. Sal remained tense, and seemed locked in his own thoughts for most of the time. Every time someone spoke to him he jumped and looked startled. For a Ranger he had certainly become very unobservant recently. At least the nightmares had stopped. Or so he thought.  
  
He was woken from sleep one night by Sal calling out. It took him a moment to realise it wasn't an attack, but that Sal was still trapped in dreams. Parlond had come over from where he was keeping watch, but it was Elessar who placed his hands on Sal's shoulders and tried to calm him.  
  
"No! No!" Sal cried, "I won't let you!" Then he sat up, crying "NO!" and waking himself with his shouting. But he wasn't fully awake, he felt Elessar's hands on his shoulders and fought against him. Elessar gasped and doubled over as a fist struck him in the stomach, and the sharp movement caused the wounds on his back to tear open again.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Sal, the instant he was fully awake.  
  
"It's not your fault," Elessar replied, "you didn't know what you were doing."  
  
"And does that make it hurt any less?" Elessar had to admit it didn't. His stomach was sore and his back was agony. The healing the past few days had helped bring about was undone in a few moments.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sal apologised again.  
  
***  
  
If anything Sal became worse over the next few days, quieter. He barely spoke two words together, and if he did it was an apology for not listening. Finally Elessar had had enough. He waited until the evening when they had made camp. Parlond was preparing the meal today, cooking some rabbits Elessar had caught. Sal stood and walked away from the camp.  
  
Elessar waited a moment then stood himself. He glanced back at Parlond, who was watching, and then walked after Sal.  
  
"I want to be alone," Sal said when Elessar stepped up behind him.  
  
"You've been alone too much recently."  
  
"What are you talking about? I've spent all my time with you and Parlond."  
  
"You haven't. I don't know where your mind's been, but its not been with us. Tell me what's wrong."  
  
Sal sank to the ground. He leaned back against a tree in something between crouching and sitting, resting on his heels, but ready to leap up. The stance of someone not fully willing to relax.  
  
"What's the worst thing you could imagine?" he asked. A little surprised by the question, Elessar crouched beside him, thinking.  
  
"Something happening to Arwen or the children." Sal shook his head.  
  
"There are worse things." There was a pause, and Elessar tried to imagine something worse. At last Sal continued. "Can you imagine what it must feel like to be the one responsible for those things happening?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Can you imagine what it would feel like. . . to kill them? To see your own sword, your own hand, pierce their hearts?"  
  
"What are you talking about, Sal?"  
  
"Oh you don't understand!" Sal was on his feet, and Elessar rose immediately after him.  
  
"Of course I don't understand if you don't tell me."  
  
"So you think you can just order me to tell you everything! You're the king so that makes you perfect! Everyone should have to bare their souls to you on a whim, until you get bored and decide you've had enough! I've lived my life on your orders for seventeen years! You tell me to go to Mordor, so I go! You tell me to go into exile, so I go! You tell me to save your son, so I do! Did you ever once think about me, what I want, what I feel? Did you even think of the consequences when you turned me into a tool?"  
  
Sal's eyes were filled with an anger Elessar had never seen in them. It was as if every fury at every injustice he had seen in his life was being directed at him. But to Elessar's shock there was more than just anger there. There was hate.  
  
***  
  
Elessar sat, staring into the fire, wondering which was more painful, the wounds in his back or the pain inside his heart. Sal had been his closest friend for years, the one he could turn to with a problem, the one who would turn to him as well. He'd never thought of Sal as a tool, and he'd always valued his opinion. He would never have made Sal do any of those things if he thought he'd been unwilling.  
  
What had he done to make Sal hate him? He tried to think of anything over the past days or weeks, but found nothing. When had Sal started acting coldly towards him? He had been acting distantly since this trip had begun, but on his last visit to Minas Tirith he had been the same Sal Elessar cared so much about.  
  
Had he said something on that visit? No, he didn't think so. Sal had left in as good cheer as he had arrived. So something must have happened between that visit and now.  
  
Elessar sighed, and looked at the stewed rabbit that lay untouched at his feet. He needed to eat something, so he picked up the bowl and took a few slow mouthfuls. He was about half-way through when Sal returned, his face pale. Elessar thought he could make out streaks down his face in the dim firelight, but any tears had dried out long before.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sal said quietly, "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did, you'd done nothing to deserve it." There was no anger in his eyes now, just sorrow.  
  
"Have something to eat," Elessar said softly, gesturing at the third bowl of stew that was cold by now.  
  
"Thank you." Sal sat down and took the bowl.  
  
"Parlond's the one who cooked it."  
  
"Good," Sal said, a hint of a smile beginning to form on his lips, "It's good to know that I shall not die from poison in the night."  
  
"If you are that worried about your cooking perhaps I should prepare each meal," Elessar responded, a smile forming on his own face. It was a simple beginning, just a few teasing words, but it was a start. The Sal Elessar knew so well was returning.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Wow, I'm actually ending on a cheerful note. Or worrying depending on the way you look at it. I'll leave it up to you, since the reader plays as great a part as the writer in the subtext of a story. I think that's the only thing I've learned in all those English lit lessons when everyone in the class seemed to have a different idea of what the author of a particular novel was trying to say. 


	9. Arrival in the Shire

Author's note: I suppose my cheerful note would be worrying. I'm sure you'll be more worried when you read this cliffhanger.  
  
***  
  
Elessar was mostly healed as they rode into Bree. The gatekeeper had been a little reluctant about letting them in, but he recognised Elessar. They rode through the streets to the Prancing Pony and Elessar noticed both of his companions looking round suspiciously. He could understand it, after Minas Tirith Bree certainly looked as though it hosted a thousand dangerous men.  
  
A hobbit came out of the door of the Pony to take their horses. Elessar had to hide a laugh at Parlond's expression. He had never seen a hobbit before, and the sight shocked him. Elessar caught Sal's eye and grinned. Sal grinned back.  
  
As they went into the main room of the Pony, they were greeted cheerfully by the innkeeper who appeared happily ignorant of the importance of the new arrivals.  
  
"Welcome, welcome, are you looking for accommodation?"  
  
"Indeed we are," Elessar replied, "along with a hot supper and some of your fine ale."  
  
Suddenly Butterbur recognised him. "Strider? Well, it's been a long time since you were here. Off in foreign parts dealing with strange folk the rumours have been saying. Well, it's good that you're back here among decent folk again."  
  
Elessar saw the look of fury on Parlond's face and quickly placed a hand on his arm. "Peace," he said quietly and then turned to Butterbur, "I think you shouldn't speak so quickly of foreign folk while you have some under your roof."  
  
"I'm sorry, I meant no offence," Butterbur said hastily, leading the three travellers through to a private parlour. Once he had gone again, Parlond practically exploded.  
  
"How dare he speak with such disrespect?!"  
  
"He is a simple man," Elessar said calmly, "mistrustful of anything outside his knowledge. There are many people like him, in Gondor as much as Bree. He's a good man and doesn't mean offence." He sat down on one of the comfortable chairs. Even the short walk had made his feet hurt, and he was glad to take the weight off them.  
  
"He called you Strider! What way is that to address a king?" Elessar couldn't help laughing at that.  
  
"If you would strike someone down for calling me Strider then you will have to kill some of Gondor's greatest heroes," he said, "for that is the name the hobbits know me by."  
  
The flush of anger on Parlond's face quickly changed to embarrassment.  
  
"I apologise," he said, "I spoke out of turn."  
  
"Don't bother apologising," Sal said, "he gets sick of people bowing and scraping all the time."  
  
"True enough," Elessar said, "having someone speak to me as you just did, or as Sal is constantly doing," he shot Sal a mock glare, "can make a refreshing change." Sal had certainly relaxed on the trip, and his nightmares had lessened. Though he had on occasion woken them with his cries each time his panicked state lasted a shorter time. Elessar began to think that whatever it was that caused the nightmares was fading. Sal's attitude had become more the one Elessar was used to, and he laughed and joked far more than he fell into silent thought.  
  
Butterbur and the hobbit came in with their supper and the three travellers had a pleasant meal, content to continue their journey to the Shire the next day.  
  
***  
  
They rode up to the Brandywine Bridge, which was barred by a gate. This surprised Elessar, since their had been no gate when he had last been here, though admittedly it was a long time ago. He dismounted and, handing his reins to Sal, knocked on the gate.  
  
"What do you want?" a voice demanded, and a small doorway opened in the gate. A hobbit emerged, glaring at the three men.  
  
"To enter the Shire," Elessar replied.  
  
"We don't want Big Folk in our land," the hobbit said.  
  
"Our plans our to travel to the Shire, and I don't feel much like changing them."  
  
"We won't let you in! We'll fight you if we have to!" The scene was rather comical, with one small hobbit threatening three armed men, but Elessar kept his face straight. Parlond was looking angry, but Sal touched his arm and shook his head.  
  
"How many of you are there?" Elessar inquired.  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Ten against one? That's hardly an equal fight."  
  
"Perhaps Parlond and I should join in and make it twelve against one," Sal suggested, "That would be more even, though I still wouldn't like our chances." Elessar could see the hobbit getting confused by this, so Sal explained.  
  
"You do realised you're talking to the greatest swordsman in Gondor and one who is generally regarded as the second bravest hero of the Great War?" The hobbit back slightly through the door, and looked ready to sling it shut in a moment.  
  
"We'll still fight you," he said, with a tremble in his voice that denied his words.  
  
"I'd rather prefer not to have to hurt anyone," Elessar said, "is there anyone we could talk to who might be considered in charge? The Thain? The Master of Buckland? Perhaps the Mayor?"  
  
"I know what they'd say. No Big Folk are allowed in the Shire."  
  
"What's going on here?" The voice came from behind the gate, and Elessar recognised it immediately. He glanced at Sal, who was smiling as well.  
  
The hobbit turned to the new arrival, "These Big Folk are trying to get into the Shire." Another hobbit stepped up to the door and looked through. Surprisingly for a hobbit, he was wearing a soldier's uniform in black and silver, and a silver brooch shaped like a tree was pinned to his chest. He paused for a moment, taking in the three men at the gate.  
  
"Peregrin Took!" Elessar snapped in a fierce tone, "You forget your place!" Pippin dropped instantly to his knee, bowing low as he did so. At that moment, Parlond shifted, and his cloak fell aside to reveal a uniform identical to the one Pippin was wearing except for the size.  
  
"I apologise, my liege," Pippin said in an almost servile tone. He looked up, and unseen to the hobbit at the gate, grinned widely. It was all Elessar could do to keep his expression harsh as he saw the astonished look on the other hobbit's face. Some others had come to the gate now and were looking through.  
  
"How may I serve, my lord?" Pippin asked.  
  
"By getting off your knees and letting us in!"  
  
"At once, my lord." Pippin's grin had disappeared as he dove through the door and pulled the gate open, so the hobbits gathered only saw one of the most respected and brave of the Shirefolk acting as a timid servant. True to his name, Elessar strode through the open gates. Sal and Parlond dismounted and walked behind him, leading the horses.  
  
"It's great to see you, again," Pippin said to Sal as he passed, allowing himself a moment to grin.  
  
"And you, Pip." Both knew that the curious hobbits would be listening, and know that those entering were friends.  
  
"Salafir! Peregrin!" Elessar called sharply, and they hurried their pace to keep up with him. They realised why soon enough, as Elessar burst out laughing the moment they were out of earshot of the gate. He was unable to hold it in any longer, and the others quickly joined him in hysterics. Even Parlond laughed, and he didn't understand the joke as the others did.  
  
They reached Bag End quickly enough. Pippin said that he and Merry were both staying there at the moment. In the garden a young girl was sitting weeding a flowerbed and looking perfectly contented about it. Beside her a toddler was sitting on the grass looking less happy about the situation. The toddler was of that age when sex was indeterminate, and just sat sulking, whacking the ground with a stick.  
  
"Hello," said the girl, getting to her feet. She brushed down her dirty dress rather self-consciously. "If you're looking for my father he isn't in at the moment, but you can wait inside." The girl was full of politeness. Elessar had half-expected her to be frightened, but perhaps the sight of Pippin standing beside them took the edge off the fear. There was no trace of it in her eyes at any rate.  
  
She went to the door and called inside. "Frodo! Frodo!" The name shocked Elessar for a moment, but it was a boy who answered the call, and he almost laughed at his stupidity. What else would Sam call a son? "Can you sort out the horses?" the girl said, and then picked up the toddler. Pippin went with Frodo to take care of the horses, and the three men followed the girl inside.  
  
"Oh," she said suddenly, standing in the hallway, "I'm forgetting my manners." She gave a courtesy, surprisingly graceful given the child in her arms, "My name is Elanor Gamgee."  
  
"I am Elessar, though your father knows me better as Strider. These are my friends Sal and Parlond."  
  
"I am pleased to meet you," Elanor said.  
  
"And I you. And I thought your manners were impeccable." Elanor blushed slightly, and Elessar guessed she had inherited her father's shy nature as well as his love of gardens.  
  
Elanor's good manners continued as she prepared a light meal for them. Light by hobbit standards at least, and the three men were full at the end. The toddler was introduced as Tolman, and there were a few other children running around the hobbit hole who weren't still for long enough to be introduced.  
  
Sam returned shortly with Merry and Rose. Rose said she was pleased to meet them, and then left them alone, taking Elanor and Tolman with her. Elessar listened cheerfully to the tales of the Shire that the hobbits told, content to wait his turn to recount their adventures. He wasn't particularly anxious to relive recent experiences.  
  
Pippin described what had happened at the gate, and both Sam and Merry joined in the laughter. "Now they will be guessing for months who you are," Pippin laughed, "and I don't they'll even get close." The conversation went on well into the night, but then Rose came in and insisted they all get to bed. She fussed over the three men like a mother hen, and again Elessar had to struggle not to laugh.  
  
***  
  
Sal was laughing, though he couldn't quite remember the joke. Something about Elessar and hobbit guards. He was laughing still, but suddenly it didn't seem as though he was the one laughing. Someone was laughing through him. Panic and fear rose up inside him, but the laugh continued, almost seemed to increase. He felt his hand move towards fortune, and tried to stop it. His body didn't want to obey his commands.  
  
"No! No!" He tried to cry, but his shouts only echoed inside his mind.  
  
There was Elessar standing in front of him. Sal tried to call out to him, to warn him, but Elessar stood there unaware of the danger he was in.  
  
'No!' Sal cried silently, but Elessar couldn't hear him. Sal felt his arm move, and tried desperately to hold it still. It didn't work though, and Sal watched helplessly as Elessar died by his hand.  
  
He sat up, suddenly awake, in the bed Rose had prepared for him, and stared about him with eyes that burned red.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: And the evil cliffhangers return. Review, or else. 


	10. Discoveries

Pippin woke up to the sound of a muffled cry, and got out of bed. It was still dark outside, but he heard footsteps outside his door. He opened the door a crack, and saw Sal hurry past, buckling fortune at his side as he went. Even from where he stood, Pippin knew there was something strange about him, and hurried out after.  
  
It was probably not the wisest thing to do, but if something was wrong with Sal then someone ought to try and speak to him, and it would take too long to wake the others. He grabbed his cloak from a hook and went through the round door of Bag End which Sal had left open in his haste.  
  
Pippin caught a glimpse of Sal heading down the road, walking fast. The hobbit had to run to follow. Sal left the road almost immediately, and Pippin scrambled across the countryside after him. It didn't take long for Pippin to regret following him, as he was worn out and there was no sign of Sal anywhere. It was as if he had disappeared.  
  
Pippin stopped and looked around him, breathing hard, when suddenly Sal stepped out from behind a tree. Pippin was so surprised he jumped backwards and almost fell.  
  
"Why are you following me?" Sal asked, angry in a way Pippin had never seen him before.  
  
"I thought something was wrong and I just wanted to help," Pippin replied.  
  
"I don't want your help!"  
  
"Then what do you want? Why are you just leaving in the middle of the night?"  
  
"I need some time alone, that's all," but Sal refused to look Pippin in the eye as he spoke.  
  
"It didn't look that way earlier. You were perfectly happy to be with your friends. What's changed?"  
  
"Just leave me alone, Pip! You don't understand! As long as you're near me, you're in danger!" This only served to confuse Pippin, and make him more determined to reach the truth. It wasn't a good idea to arose a hobbit's curiosity.  
  
"From you? I know you, Sal, and I know you'd never hurt any of us."  
  
"That's the problem!" He turned to walk away but Pippin grabbed hold of his arm. He would never have stood a chance of stopping Sal, so there was no reason for what Sal did next. He spun round, bringing his fist up to contact with Pippin's jaw. The force knocked Pippin backwards, and he fell hard on the ground, winded, his head striking the rocks forcefully.  
  
For a moment the scene froze. Sal stared down at Pippin, looking almost as shocked as Pippin was. This was nothing like the man Pippin knew. Then a moment later Sal was gone, running as fast as he could away from the fallen hobbit.  
  
Pippin got to his feet slowly, clinging to a tree for support. By the time the world had stopped spinning Sal was nowhere to be seen. His jaw ached and his head throbbed. The only thing to do was head back to Bag End and tell the others what had happened.  
  
***  
  
Elessar woke when he heard the door open then close. It was still dark, but the sky outside the window was beginning to lighten with dawn. Curious, he crossed to the door, careful to keep his head bowed. He'd learned early on the mistake of standing straight in a hobbit hole. Stepping out into the long hallway, he saw Pippin standing by the door. He was leaning on the wall for support, and even in the darkness Elessar knew something was wrong.  
  
He hurried to Pippin, kneeling down so he could look him in the face. A dark bruise was forming on chin, and there was blood in his hair.  
  
"What happened? Who did this?"  
  
"Sal," Pippin said quietly. Unwilling to believe it, yet unwilling to think of Pippin as a liar, Elessar led him into the kitchen and began heating some water over the fire so that he could clean the cut on his head.  
  
"Tell me everything that happened." Pippin did, starting from waking up and ending with his return home. Elessar carefully cleaned the shallow cut, listening to each word. As he listened, it seemed that something cold had settled in his stomach and was growing, freezing his insides. Not Sal. Sal wouldn't act like this.  
  
"Why would Sal do this?" Elessar asked, more to himself than Pippin.  
  
"He has betrayed you." He looked up to see Parlond standing in the doorway. He was surprised that he hadn't heard Parlong, he must have been so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn't been paying attention.  
  
"I've known Sal years, I know him better than anyone else," Elessar said, "He would never betray me."  
  
"He said we were in danger," Pippin said, but Parlond didn't seem to be listening.  
  
"I saw him come into that room with the orcs. He wasn't a prisoner!"  
  
"You don't know him like I do!" Elessar stood. "Take care of Pippin," he told Parlond, "I'm going to find out what's going on." He left, desperate to find Sal just so that he could prove Parlond was wrong. He hadn't believed Sal a traitor even when he had proclaimed it, he wouldn't believe it now. There had to be some other explanation for this.  
  
Sal's trail was easy to find and follow, with the sky growing pale in the east. Elessar ran, knowing Sal had a good advantage. He had to run quite a way, but was confident from the trail that he was gaining.  
  
He cleared a small group of trees, and saw Sal ahead of him, climbing a steep slope. Tired and breathing heavily, Elessar followed. Sal glanced back, and Elessar knew he saw him, before disappearing over the brow of the slope.  
  
When he reached the top, Sal was there, looking down a sheer drop with a stream below. He had trapped himself. He turned to look at Elessar with uncharacteristic anger.  
  
"Why couldn't you have just left me alone?" he demanded.  
  
"What are you talking about Sal?" Elessar asked, walking slowly towards him. Sal stepped back along the top of the slope.  
  
"Why couldn't you have just let me go?"  
  
"Why can't you tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"Because you wouldn't listen."  
  
"Of course I'd listen, you're my friend."  
  
"You didn't listen to Parlond when he told you."  
  
"What are you saying, Sal?"  
  
Sal sighed, and looked at Elessar with a sadness immeasurable. "He told you that I had betrayed you, and you wouldn't listen. You're so certain you know me, so certain that I'm a good person, a good friend. You would never even consider the possibility that I might. . ." He broke off, and looked away. Elessar needed him to continue, but dreaded where the conversation might take him.  
  
"Might what?"  
  
"Kill you." The cold dread that had been dwelling inside him since Pippin told his tale rose now to fill him. He couldn't believe what Sal was telling him, but there was something about the way he spoke that told him it was the truth. It wasn't like last time when Sal's eyes had been filled with grief even as he claimed he hated him. This time there was only sincerity.  
  
"I see it in my nightmares and I know it will happen. My sword, my hand, your blood. I see you die by my own hand, and I can't bear it. And I know that you won't believe it possible. I will kill you, and you will go to your grave not believing that it was me who did it. Who killed you."  
  
"You're talking of what hasn't happened as though it has. You haven't hurt me."  
  
"But I. . ." Sal broke off, a look of panic growing on his face. "Elessar, run!" He didn't. Instead he took a step towards his friend, an arm out to try and calm him. "RUN!" Sal shouted. Elessar put a hand on Sal's arm, but Sal pulled sharply away, his other arm coming up in a totally unexpected blow.  
  
Elessar fell backwards, and looked up to see Sal drawing fortune, his eyes burning with red fire. He understood. He had barely enough time for the realisation to hit him before Sal came on the attack.  
  
He rolled sideways as Sal swung downwards with fortune, getting to his feet as he did so. He pulled Anduril from its sheath, parrying a blow from fortune. They fought a short while, Elessar always defending, never attacking. He couldn't keep this up though, sooner or later he would make a mistake and die because of it. But he couldn't attack. He couldn't kill Sal.  
  
He ducked a blow and brought his foot up into Sal's legs. The kick sent Sal over. He fell onto the ground, fortune beneath him, and rolled down the steep slope he had only recently climbed. Elessar stood and watched as he rolled down, landing in a painful heap at the bottom. He lay unmoving, fortune in two pieces at his side.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Is he dead? Am I that evil? Review and I'll let you know. *Ducks behind the sofa to avoid wrathful reviewers* 


	11. Through a Veil of Fire

Author's note: No reviews! Not one single review! *Sniff* Well, if you don't want to know what happens next I don't have to update.  
  
***  
  
Sal opened his eyes and saw through the flickering veil of red. He was sitting in a chair in Bag End, tied down securely so he couldn't move, but he strained against the restraints anyone. Or rather, the thing inside him strained against them.  
  
Sal looked out, the way Sauron directed his eyes, and saw Elessar sitting in front of him. Anduril lay across his lap, unsheathed, in case it was needed. Elessar was staring at him with a cold, calm look on his face, but his eyes betrayed him. Those eyes held a wealth of grief and sorrow. . . and guilt.  
  
Guilt rose inside Sal as he saw that. He was responsible for the pain Elessar was feeling. It was because of him that Elessar was upset. It was irrational, but that didn't stop him feeling it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sal," Elessar said quietly.  
  
Sal heard his own laugh, and his own voice speak. "Your friend cannot here you. He is gone forever."  
  
"You are a creature of lies. I know my friend is alive in you, and I want him to know that I am sorry."  
  
'You've nothing to be sorry about,' Sal thought, desperately trying to speak. Suddenly every nerve was on fire with pain. He couldn't focus on anything but the pain and had no idea how long it lasted when suddenly it ended.  
  
'Do not try to fight me,' a voice inside his head whispered, 'I can make you suffer pain a million times worse than you imagine possible.' Sal couldn't imagine any worse pain than the expression on the face of the man opposite him. There were tears in Elessar's eyes, trapped there by some force of will that prevented them flowing free.  
  
"You can say nothing to bring your friend back," Sauron was saying with Sal's voice when he was able to focus on his surroundings again. Sal could see the conflict in an expression that most people would consider impassive. He knew Elessar too well not to read his thoughts in his face. He didn't want to believe what he was being told, but some part of him was beginning to doubt. Beginning to believe Sal lost.  
  
'No! No! I'm here!' Sal shouted in his thoughts, but there was no way for Elessar to hear him.  
  
"Your friend has fallen to my will," Sauron continued, "and your kingdom will follow soon. My armies are prepared, ready to march, and you are too far from home. Minas Tirith will burn, but you shall be spared, a king with no subjects." A sick feeling filled Sal's stomach. His people, his home, his family, destroyed. That was worse than any of the nightmares he had suffered.  
  
"No!" In a moment of desperate fear, Sal knew he had to do something, and the red fire disappeared from his vision. He felt the thing inside him, surging with anger at this outburst, and looked straight into Elessar's eyes.  
  
"Kill me," he begged. Then the world turned red again, and pain filled every core of his being. Pure agony flowed through his veins and blossomed along his skin. All his senses were overwhelmed by the pain.  
  
***  
  
Parlond was sitting with Sal now. They weren't going to leave him unguarded for a moment. Elessar sat in the kitchen, eating a bowl of soup that Rosie had made. Merry, Pippin and Sam were sitting there as well.  
  
"Is Sal actually. . . alive?" Pippin asked.  
  
"I think so," Elessar said. "He spoke to me. For a moment, the fire in his eyes disappeared and he spoke. He asked me to kill him." Fe had seen the pleading look, and was sure it was Sal who had spoken. But what if it wasn't? What if it was some trick of Sauron's to make him turn against his friend? He didn't know what to believe any more.  
  
Some time later he went to the room where Sal was being kept. He was asleep in the chair, head resting on his chest. His face was slightly flushed, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Parlond was sitting in front of him.  
  
"I owe you an apology," Elessar said when Parlond turned to look at him, "I should have listened to you."  
  
"You trusted your friend."  
  
"I should have trusted you as well." He looked over at Sal. "How is he?"  
  
"He fell asleep a while ago. I think he has a fever." Elessar went to the chair, and held his hand above Sal's forehead. It was warm.  
  
"The body fights infections with fever," he said quietly, "maybe Sal's trying to fight this infection." He looked back at Parlond. "I'll watch him again." Parlond nodded and stood, and Elessar took his place on the chair.  
  
Hours passed in silence. Sal stirred occasionally in his sleep, disturbed by dreams, and it seemed to Elessar almost as though he really was looking at his friend. A friend who needed him. The problem was that he didn't know how he could help. He sat and watched. Others came and looked in from time to time, sometimes saying a few words, sometimes watching in silence. Elessar spoke to them, but forgot what he had said almost as soon as the words passed his lips. All his thoughts were on the friend who sat in the chair opposite him.  
  
Sal stirred suddenly, crying out in his sleep. Elessar sat up straighter, watching him with concern. Then Sal's eyes snapped open, though he still didn't seem to see.  
  
"NO!" he shouted, pulling against the ropes in panic. A moment later the panic was gone, and Sal looked at Elessar with eyes clear and brown, free from the evil inside of him.  
  
***  
  
Wow. Two chapters in the same story that end on a happy note. I think there's something wrong with me.  
  
I spent another joyous Saturday morning painting gutters. At least my bedroom has most of a roof now. Still no floor though, that might be a problem. 


	12. Inside and Out

Author's note: I'm so excited. My website has now had over two thousand hits!!!! I remember being excited when the hit counter went into double figures.  
  
I've also had an article published in a magazine. OK, it's just a short piece about Sunday School in a local magazine, but it's a start.  
  
***  
  
"Sal?" Elessar asked cautiously.  
  
"Kill me," Sal begged.  
  
"I. . . I can't."  
  
"It's the only way."  
  
"No! We'll find a way to get him out of you," Elessar said, but Sal just shook his head. "We'll defeat him."  
  
"I thought I had," Sal said, "I thought when I gained control of myself again it was the end, but he's still inside of me. I can't win. All I can do is hold him back for a time, but if I relax my guard for even a moment he will be back, and I might not get control. You have to kill him, and to do that you must kill me."  
  
"There must be another way, and we'll find it." Elessar just refused to listen to what Sal was saying. He wouldn't accept that it was over. He wouldn't accept that his friend must die.  
  
"Elessar, you heard what he said. Gondor will be destroyed. You have to stop it, you have to kill me."  
  
"I can't," Elessar replied, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing his closest friend.  
  
"Please," Sal said with great effort, "kill me." Then suddenly his eyes lit up with the fire, and Elessar instinctively leaned back. It wasn't just the eyes, but the whole set of the face that changed, and he knew that the man in front of him was no longer Sal.  
  
"You cannot save him," Sauron said.  
  
***  
  
Pippin went to look in on Sal. He wished he could go back to not knowing what was wrong. That was better than the truth, since he couldn't have imagined it would be something so terrible. He remembered what it had been like with Boromir, how he had become something so different from the man who had been their friend. Would it be the same with Sal? Would the man who had saved his life twice become his enemy?  
  
He looked in through the open doorway and saw that Sal and Strider were talking, but their words were quiet so he couldn't hear what was being said. Suddenly it was as though someone had lit a torch in Sal's head. His eyes burned red and Pippin shivered suddenly, remembering what had happened the last time he'd seen eyes like those.  
  
He ducked back outside the room. He was afraid, and didn't want those eyes to see him. That thing sitting there wasn't Sal. The thought that there existed something that could destroy a person from the inside was a terrifying one, and Pippin knew he couldn't go inside that room and face it.  
  
Instead he turned and walked away. He just couldn't bear the thought of what that thing was doing to Sal. What Sal was going through. But deep inside him was another fear. If it could happen to Sal, why not to him?  
  
***  
  
Sal watched through his burning eyes as Elessar's own filled with tears. He heard his own voice, taunting, jeering, and wished he could make it stop. The pain still filled the core of his being. Agony upon agony as Sauron punished him for taking back what was his for those few brief moments. But nothing could be worse than the look on Elessar's face as Sauron spoke.  
  
"And your little daughter," he was saying, "too young now, but I expect she'll be very pretty when she's older. A pretty plaything for me." Sal could tell Elessar was trying not to listen, but he also knew it couldn't work.  
  
"I will not let you harm any member of my family."  
  
"How do you plan on stopping it? You killed me once before and I returned. Your friend killed me again, but now I have him. You will never be rid of me." Sal wondered if that was true. He didn't understand how Sauron had ended up inside of him, and so he couldn't know for sure what would happen if he died. Would he just be sentencing another to suffer as he was?  
  
He finally understood how it must have been for Boromir, how he must have suffered as he watched the orcs torture his friends on his command. He remembered his grief and guilt when he learned what he had done. Now he knew that Boromir would have been smiling inside as fortune pierced his heart. For the first time in seventeen years, Sal was truly glad of what he did that day.  
  
***  
  
Sorry it's short, but it seemed a good place to end. 


	13. Fortune's Loss

Author's note: I decided I wouldn't post this chapter until I had at least three reviews for the last one. I've had one, but I've decided to be nice.  
  
***  
  
Sal felt the pain tear through his heart, and looked down. Fortune's blade was coming from his heart, the smooth metal stained with blood. The pain came again as the sword was pulled free, and he turned to see who had down this to him.  
  
He saw himself, a frightened young boy, holding a sword he didn't yet know how to use. He pitied that boy, who had so much suffering in his future, but at the same time he wished he could be him, as he still had joy to come. Standing there, knowing he was dreaming, Sal looked at the sword Elessar had given him, before they ever became friends.  
  
He looked at the hand that held it. Stained with blood.  
  
***  
  
His eyes snapped open, only this time there was no confusing fog. There was no red fire. There was just himself, and the knowledge he had gained. Elessar was sitting in front of him as before, staring vaguely in front of him, but he was alert the moment he realised Sal was awake.  
  
"Sal?"  
  
"Blood on my hands," he said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"His blood on my hands. That was how he got into me, just some small part of his spirit passing through my skin. He's lived in me for the past seventeen years, too weak to do anything, just waiting. Growing. He'll get stronger every moment he's inside me, you have to stop him."  
  
"I can't, Sal. I can't kill you."  
  
"It's the only way to destroy him. You must destroy me, make sure there's nothing left. Kill me, burn my body, and make sure no one touches my remains. I don't know if he's strong enough yet to pass into another, but we can't risk it. You have to kill me."  
  
"No," Elessar said, tears flowing down his cheeks.  
  
"You took me with you to Mordor because you knew someone had to kill Boromir. I know what he was suffering, and I'm glad I kill him. You said so yourself, there is nothing worse than being a prisoner inside yourself, seeing you hands torture those you care about. Would you torture me by putting me through that?"  
  
Elessar looked deep into Sal's eyes, and Sal felt tears run down his cheeks for what he was asking his friend to do. Then Elessar nodded.  
  
Sal felt Sauron, a constant presence inside of him. He could feel him struggling, trying to break through, and held on. It wouldn't take long. Soon he would be free of this monster forever.  
  
"We may not have much time, I don't know how long I can keep control. You must kill me quickly." Elessar nodded.  
  
***  
  
They were in a group of trees by the Hill. Sal stood, bound tightly, but still in control of himself. In front of him were the three hobbits, Parlond and, of course, Elessar. Parlond had offered to do this, but Elessar knew he had to be the one to kill Sal, otherwise he would never be able to forgive the one who did.  
  
The hobbits wept, and clung to each other. This reunion was supposed to have been an occasion for joy, not the execution of a friend. Sam didn't know Sal like the others did, but he knew he was their friend, and that was enough.  
  
Parlond placed a hand to his heart in a gesture of loyalty. His face was calm, but Sal could see that his eyes were wet. Only a few weeks ago he would have killed Sal as a traitor if they had met, yet now he was weeping at Sal's funeral.  
  
All of those present were thinking about Sal, thinking about the things they had done together, the things they would never do again. Not Sal though. Sal was thinking of the grief his death would cause others. He thought of Rion and Rith, who thought he was just going away like he always did, who were expecting him to come back. He thought of his parents who he visited on most of his visits to the city. They didn't know the truth about Sal's exile, but they loved him still. Most of all he thought of Elessar. Elessar who had trained him and fought beside him, who had laughed with him and at him on more occasions than Sal could count. Elessar, his closest friend. He knew this would hurt him, and he wished there was another way.  
  
They would burn his body, make sure that there was nothing left but ashes, and then they would build a cairn of stones over what was left. None of them would touch him. None of them would risk repeating this. Elessar had decided that the two pieces of fortune would be set in a clay tablet and placed at the head of cairn. His sword would remain by him forever.  
  
Elessar's eyes were filled with tears as he placed an arrow on the string of his bow. It was better this way. There was no chance of blood touching anyone. Elessar drew back his bow, and Sal closed his eyes, waiting. The tears which blurred the king's eyes didn't do anything to ruin his aim.  
  
Sal's death came so swiftly he didn't even feel the arrow strike.  
  
THE END  
  
Surprisingly enough there won't be a sequel, but I've already started work on my next story.  
  
Thank you to those who've reviewed. The rest of you can read my next story and REVIEW!!! How am I supposed to improve if I don't get feedback? Thank you for bothering to read this far. 


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